CURFEWPoem by Ibtisam Barakat

Our city is a cell,children's faces are replacingflower pots on window sills. . .and we are waiting. . . From our window barsof boredomwe enter a spit race --the one whose spitreaches fartheris freer. . . We look to the skysquint our questions.We turn the sun into a kitehold it with a raytil it is torn upinside the horizon . . . And the light ispeeled off the grounda page in a bedtime storywe do not understand . . . Our questions remaina yeastinside our chestsrising . . .

Note: Curfew poem refers to military curfew that Palestinian cities are placed under many times during the year. It is not like the curfew for a person to be home at a certain time. It is a curfew for whole cities, and it lasts for days or weeks sometimes, no one can go to school, no one can go to work, and no one can go outside of the house at all, except for an hour or two when the army decides to let them. It is especially hard on children who have small homes and very few toys like many refugee children. I once was one of those children. I think freedom is necessary every hour of our lives. . This poem is published by "Universe of Poetry.com" and in Poets for Palestine anthology.